Date: Tue, 27 Jul 2004 13:49:35 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown
Subject: You Can't Be Friends With A Slave, Parts 27-28
YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part twenty seven
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
RELATIONSHIPS
The bastards didn't even feed me the morning when I
was due to appear in court. And they laughed when I
politely asked if I could shower. I was at last put
into a cell and I could then crap, and try to clean
myself up as far as possible with the toilet tissue.
Then I just sat there on the edge of the pallet,
waiting for the inevitable. I wondered if it was like
being collared - once the judge had signed the papers,
would I be taken by Office Hughes to the other side of
the court room and gelded there? I supposed it would
hurt, and I didn't think they'd consider giving me an
anaesthetic, so I guessed I was going to be shrieking
and shouting as the scalpel cut into my sac. But
then, would they use a scalpel? Did they have some
machine or other - rather like those things they use
to cut the ends off cigars - they'd put my balls in
and the iris would close and slice through? On the
other hand, weren't they always talking about
prosthetic testicles, so that I kept the "look", and
hadn't Billy-Joe said at some point said that he'd
even thought of giving me really heavy stainless-steel
balls, so that my sac would be really stretched? It
was ironic, wasn't it, that the bastard who enslaved
me and who was always talking about gelding never had
it done, whereas master Rafe, who said he was "firm
but fair", was actually going through with it? And
what then? Was he going to sell me, or was I going to
have to live out my life at his establishment, always
being known as a gelding?
By the time I was taken up to the court I was really
depressed, and I looked terrible - the lack of sleep
had left dark bags under my eyes, and as I hadn't
shaved, I had a thick, dark "five o'clock shadow" all
over my face. I was hungry, and I knew my skin would
be looking all sallow, instead of shining with good
health as it usually did. And there were big red
patches, or even bruises, on my butt where they'd
spanked and paddled me.
The court was full - I suppose it always was for slave
cases, as people would want to see guys stripped, or
gelded. As I looked around at the public gallery I
didn't see anyone I recognised. They led me up the
slave entrance - a flight of steps up from under the
court into a caged area, and Officer Hughes stood
behind me, the contrast between his uniform and my
nakedness pointing out to everyone that he was free
and I was a slave. I remembered my previous time
here, how embarrassed I'd been when my clothes had
been stripped off me and I was naked in public for the
first time. Now, I didn't give a shit - Billy-Joe's
use of me had seen to that.
The courtroom doors opened and master Rafe came in,
accompanied by a lawyer. He took one look at me, and
seemed to be shocked. He went to come over to me, but
his lawyer took him by the arm and led him over to a
table, where they both sat down. He continued to
stare at me, and I wondered if he felt guilty about
what he was about to happen to me.
"All rise!", the usher shouted, and the judge came in
and sat down. "Case 10483, the slave known as Steve,
SIN.....", the usher intoned. The judge looked up
from his papers, and peered down at me. "I see from
your history that you were a voluntary enslavement,
subsequently changed to servitude for life by petition
of your then owner. Slavery is a serious business,
young man, and not to be taken lightly. The Court
does not look lightly on these constant changes of
mind on the part of your owners about your future.
You are a slave, and that is a perfectly respectable
role in our great society. We need slaves, just as
much as we need free men, in order that we can
continue to maintain those great values that made our
country what it is."
What the fuck was he going on about, I wondered.
"The Court was disinclined to agree to your owner's
request...."
Oh good, so perhaps I wasn't going to get snipped....
".... as a slave should be just that, a slave. But,
after many petitions and submissions from your owner's
lawyers, I have reluctantly decided to agree."
Oh, fuck me. That bastard. I wonder how much he'd
paid those fucking lawyers?
"Consequently I now pronounce you once again to be a
free man, Mr Harris."
"Guard", he continued "Take this man and remove his
collar."
I was in an absolute daze. Officer Hughes took me by
the arm again and over to the table where I'd been
bent all that time ago so that my collar could be
fixed. Now I had to bend over again, and once more I
knew they'd all be looking at my ass, as they sawed
away at the tough steel links. It seemed to take for
ever, an there was an excited buzz of conversation
from the audience as they admired my body. There was
a kind of "clunk" noise, and the chain fell away on to
the table, and Harris pulled at my arm to get me to
stand upright.
It just didn't feel right without that weight around
my neck - after so long wearing two or three pounds of
steel around my throat I felt somehow different: my
head felt as if it could reach upwards to the sky. I
felt with my fingers around me neck, enjoying the
sensation for the first time for so long of being able
to feel all my neck without that band of steel around
it.
Harris led me back in front of the judge. There was a
lot of excited noise from the watching crowd, and he
banged his gavel for silence.
"Mr Harris, I do not want to see you in here again. I
will tolerate no more games. If you voluntarily
enslave yourself again you will automatically be
enslaved for life, and that time it really will be for
life. This Court upholds the institutions of our
society, and slavery is a serious business, not
something a young man can play with as some sort of
strange sexual fetish: look at you, you are a
disgrace! Playing at slavery by having those words
tattooed over your body. It will not do, Mr Harris,
it will not do at all. There are many, many slaves in
our society to whom slavery is a serious business, not
something to be tried out, then set aside, as you now
seem to be doing."
"But your honour...."
"Silence, Mr Harris! If you wish me to sign this
paper, your formal petition of freedom, you will
remain silent. I do not want to hear your pathetic
excuses for why your little game of voluntary
enslavement has suddenly gone wrong and you wish to
return to that enviable status of freedom that real
men enjoy."
What the hell, I thought. If that's how he saw it,
who cared. I was free! I couldn't believe it!
"Guard - give that man a cloak. It's not satisfactory
for a free man to parade his nakedness in public like
that. It demeans slaves, who must appear here in a
state of nudity to reflect their status in life, to
have a free man disporting himself in public like
that."
Officer Hughes draped a long grey cloak around my
shoulders, the judge banged is gavel, and I was led
down the stairs. That bastard's attitude had changed
completely: only a few hours ago he'd been raping my
throat. A few minute ago he'd threatened me with the
discipliner up my ass as I climbed the stairs into the
court. And now it was "This way, please, Mr Harris".
In the slave area underneath the court they didn't
know what to do - evidently it had been a long time
since anyone had been granted freedom. Normally the
slave was led down naked and thrown into a cage, as I
had been, to await collection by his owner. They
could hardly cage me, as I was a free man, but, apart
form the cloak, I was naked and without resources.
Officer Hughes offered me a chair by the desk on which
he and the other guard did their paperwork, and went
to fetch me a coffee! I sat there, still in a daze.
Master Rafe wasn't going to have me gelded - I was
here because he'd wanted to free me! How could I have
been so wrong? How could I have misjudged him so?
How could I have doubted his love for me? I felt
shattered inside - the man I loved, who owned me, who
I wanted to serve, had been betrayed by me: I'd seen
him as a foul, evil pervert, and had forgotten how
much he cared for me. I was ashamed, and sat there,
head bowed, feeling dreadful.
"Steve..."
His voice was calm, quiet. I was frozen, ashamed,
confused... I just sat there.
"Hey, Steve... This isn't what I expected!"
His strong fingers were under my chin, and he lifted
my head up so that I had to look him in the face.
"I give a guy the best birthday present he could ever
hope for, and all I get is this sullen look? I was
expecting at least a 'thank you'. Maybe even a
kiss...? Or a hug? Or a great shout of joy..?"
I got to my feet, slowly. This wasn't the way I
usually did, as he was my owner and slaves stood
quickly in the presence of their owners. No, this was
slow, as I had to control my anger.
I towered over him, and almost spat out "Bastard!
You had me dragged here in that slave carrier, then
they raped me...."
"What?" He sounded genuinely shocked.
"Yes... Stripped at your place. Herded around like a
parcel, my destination tag screwed to my nip -
look..." I let my cloak fall open so he could see the
mark on my sensitive nip, where the screw had been
tightened too much. "Then here, last night - spit
roasted, I think they call it: that oaf there fucking
my throat, and the other bastard raping my ass..."
"Steve... It wasn't meant to be like this... I knew I
couldn't get back in time, but I wanted you to be free
on your birthday. So I arranged transport for you to
the court. I used a reputable company - I thought
they'd send a cab or something, as you were coming
along to be freed...."
I looked at him. Could he be telling the truth?
"You don't know how hard this had been, Steve. The
courts just don't free many slaves, you know. The
slavery laws are really severe - once you're a slave,
you're a slave for life, normally with no possibility
of manumission. That's what makes it such a powerful
deterrent to criminals - no reduction in sentence, no
remission... Slavery means slavery for life. And in
your case it was even harder - as you heard, the judge
thinks you changed your mind, that you volunteered for
this as some sort of game, and now you want out.... I
tell you, it's taken a long time, and cost me a small
fortune in lawyers' fees, and bribes of course."
"Bribes?"
"Well, donations to the judge's chosen political
party, actually. You ended up costing me more than
you would have if I'd had to go along to an auction
and purchased you. But what's this about rape...?
These are officers of the Court.... Surely you'd be
safe here....?"
He turned angrily to Officer Hughes and the young guy,
and snapped "Is this true? Did you rape this man?
Rape is an enslavement offence, you know: how are you
going to feel when you're down here, naked, stripped
of those uniforms, waiting for the slave
transporter...?"
The young officer almost sneered. "Sir, please calm
yourself. By definition, rape is only something that
a man can do to a woman, or another man. The only men
here last night were officer Hughes and myself. There
was a slave, too - a slave who had been wilful and
uncooperative and who needed to be put into the
stocks. It is the custom here always to try to calm
these slaves by using them sexually - a bout of sex
does after all calm most slaves down."
"You raped him, then, as he said. I'll make a
complaint..."
"Sir, it won't succeed. Lack of evidence, and lack of
victim!"
"Don't be stupid! This man will testify...."
"Sir, this man cannot testify to anything that
happened here last night. He only came into existence
as a legal entity a few moments ago. He is unable to
testify to what occurred before then, by definition."
"Don't swap legalities with me! He was here...."
"No, sir. A slave was here. And slaves cannot
testify in court. As I said, there is no crime as
such, as rape is not recognised for slaves. Perhaps
the slave was mistreated, but that's always hard to
prove as officers of the Court are allowed wide
discretion in dealing with unruly slaves. But there
are no witnesses - the slave could not testify, and no
longer exists anyway. And the free man we have here
could testify, but by definition cannot speak about
things that happened last night."
I touched master Rafe on the shoulder. "Please,
master, let it lie... Don't upset yourself."
"But Steve, it's not right."
"There' a lot of things not right about being a slave,
master... I guess that was just one of them."
"Steve, I'm not your master any longer - you're a free
man. Just call me Rafe, OK?"
Thoughts raced through my brain. I tried saying
internally "Yes, Rafe", and it just didn't sound
right. He saw me standing there, blank faced, and
said "It kind of went wrong, didn't it...? I wanted to
give you a surprise on your birthday. And look how
it's turned out."
"Why didn't you tell me? I had hours of hell... No,
not the rape... That was later.... Hours of hell
thinking that you'd tired of me, that you were sending
me away, selling me.... And then, when I arrived here,
that it was for a gelding order..."
"Oh, Steve... We have got it wrong, haven't we? I
thought you loved me. I love you, you know. How
could you think that I'd send you away, or sell you?
And would I want you to lose those balls, those balls
that have given me so much enjoyment...?"
"You never said you loved me..."
"Yes, I did. It was you who was always going on about
it, always telling me about how buddies behaved.
That's what I couldn't do, Steve..."
"What do you mean?"
"A master can love a slave. He owns him, and many
masters love their possessions. But they can also
love them, truly love them, as one man loves another.
I thought you knew that. But you always wanted to be
'buddies', to be friends. And that's different - two
men can only be friends if they have something in
common, common interests, shared life experiences,
growing up together... all that stuff. A master can't
be friends with a slave, Steve - you've heard enough
people tell you that, I'm sure. Masters and slaves
are just too different. But I listened to you, and I
wanted that - I wanted your friendship. And the only
way I could get that - if I'm lucky and work at it -
is to make you a free man once more, and then try to
earn it. And now I seem to have fucked it up - we
haven't got this friendship off to a very good start,
have we?"
I wanted to throw my arms around him and hug him and
kiss him. But that's not what buddies do in public,
is it? Instead, I reached out, and for the first time
in so many years shook hands with him. We looked at
each other as we held our grip, and we both broke out
into broad smiles.
"You can't be friends with a slave, Rafe", I said,
"But masters and slaves can fuck each other. Can
friends do that, too?"
"Oh yes, Steve! Friends can fuck each other.... And
there are some other changes underway, too. Now... I
think you'll like these clothes...."
He'd brought in a short sleeved shirt, Jeans and
boots, just like his own. I threw off the cloak, and
was strangely conscious of being naked in front of the
men in a way I hadn't been as a slave; especially as
all these men had not only seen me naked, but had used
me sexually. The shirt felt really odd on my torso,
as did having my thighs and calves covered. And I was
really uncomfortable as I pulled on the boots as I'd
had bare feet for so long and my soles were thickly
calloused.
We walked out together, and I was expecting him to
drive us back to the training establishment. But
instead, we walked around the corner to the big hotel,
and went up to a large suite.
"I guess you didn't sleep much last night...", he
said. "You look tired. Why not have a couple of hours
before I take you out to a birthday lunch.. .? We have
a lot to talk about."
I was really glad to kick off my boots, and wiggled my
toes luxuriously in the deep carpet. It felt somehow
odd stripping off in front of this guy, even though
I'd done it hundreds of times before - was I already
starting to become a "man" again? I walked naked into
the bathroom and showered, and walked back into the
bedroom, towelling myself dry. I saw him still
looking at my body, and felt strangely shy.
I pulled back the covers and slid between the sheets -
not starched and crisp as I was used to, but normal
hotel ones. Still, no matter. He sat there watching
me, then said "Well, I'll get a couple of hours, too,
as I caught the overnight flight from the coast."
I lay there watching him as he pulled off his shirt
and jeans, then, in his boxers, started to pull back
the covers on the other bed in the suite.
"Hey, Rafe... I thought we were supposed to be buddies
now... Can't buddies share a bed? Get your ass over
here, as there's only one thing I want for my
birthday.... It's you... Or, rather, your ass..."
He almost threw himself at me, and our sex was more
passionate, more intense, than it had ever been
before. We didn't get lunch. We just lay there, in
each others arms, just enjoying the feeling of
closeness and togetherness of two men who had at last
found what they wanted.
About four o'clock I nudged him with my elbow, causing
him to grin. "Hey, Rafe - shouldn't we be going
home?"
"There is no home, Steve. I sold it. I wasn't on a
trip to visit the slave dealers - I was tying up the
sale of the business. One of the big vertical slave
conglomerates wanted to move into the market for young
white slaves, and made me a great offer for the
business - we've got a solid reputation, you know, and
it was worth it to them to buy me out, rather than
trying to enter this part of the business from scratch
- it's very specialised, you know, getting those lads
to be good slaves without buggaring them and spoiling
their new owners' fun in taking their cherries."
"And anyway", he went on, "It would be hard for you to
go back there as a free man - Richie and all the other
slaves had seen you naked, you'd fucked with all of
them, and I've studded you with Luella... Much better
we make a fresh start together, somewhere else."
"Doing what, exactly?"
"Oh, I don't know... I'm a rich man now you know, and
I can afford to subsidise a real friend."
"But Rafe, what about Richie...? And Luella...? And,
look, well, I guess I've got a kid on the way..."
"A son, actually, Steve. I had to keep studding you
with her as she kept spawning girls, so they needed to
be aborted. But the last time it was a son, and
she'll bear it in three months."
"My son...? What's going to happen? And what's going
to happen to Richie and the others?"
"Look, Steve, face the realities of life as a man in
the modern world, will you? I guess Richie and the
others will be fine - the new owners have bought a
thriving business, which they want to grow and expand,
and it's Richie and the others who know how to run the
place. Sure, they'll put in some of those college
graduates to do cost accounting and all that sort of
stuff, the place will be tied up in red tape as they
do risk assessments and equal opportunity reviews and
all that crap, but they'll need Richie and the crew
to actually make it work. But it's no concern of
yours - they're slaves, and what happens to them is
their new owner's concern, not yours."
"But they're my friends.. And there's my son..."
"Steve, get real! They're not your friends. You
can't be friends with slaves. And although you're the
sire, the kid will be a slave, too, as he'll be born
to a slave mother. He'll be no better off, and no
worse off, that all those other kids you sired when
Billy-Joe was studding you. I'd guess half the
'breeds who'll be coming to market around here in a
few years time will be your sons - forget it! Just
because you pushed some of your seed up their mothers,
it doesn't mean you have to be concerned about them.
They're slaves, probably good-looking, strong slaves,
if your genes go through well, so they should have a
good life."
I lay there, thinking. I suppose he was right. I
mean, even amongst free men there are enough guys who
get women pregnant and then leave, aren't there? I
think I read somewhere that it's a genetic instinct
for a man to want to spread his genes as widely as
possible - so perhaps I shouldn't try to buck millions
of years of evolution.
"Anyway, we're booked to fly to Europe next week.....
We need a break, and when we come back, we'll look
around for something to do together. Do you want to
be my business partner, as well as the guy I fuck?"
I flipped him over onto his belly, hauled his butt up
into the air, pushed his shoulders down, and gave him
a good hard fucking, just to remind him that we were
supposed now to be equals anyway. And afterwards, we
did sleep a bit, curled up companionably together.
Before we went out to dinner I wanted to exercise - I
get fretful and stressed if I don't really use my
muscles hard at least once a day (and sex doesn't
count!). I then started to discover the dreadful
prejudices people have.
Rafe thrust a bundle of money at me and said he wanted
to stay in bed recovering, so I went out myself and
bought some exercise shorts, a singlet, and some
Speedos, and a few other things. The hotel had a big
health club and pool, and I thought I'd work out
there. It was really odd to be in shops, spending
money again - I'd never bought anything since I was
enslaved, and always had to wait outside, in the
shafts of the rickshaw, when Billy-Joe went shopping.
Back at the hotel I presented my room key at the
Health Club, and went in to change. It was pathetic,
really - you were supposed to huddle in tiny cubicles
to undress, as if you were ashamed of exposing your
dick to other men! I pulled on my shorts and singlet
in the tiny space, though, as that's all there was -
no good communal bench where you could spread
yourself, as there had been when I was playing
football. Then I went out into the exercise area,
adjusted the running machine for "fast" and "Steep
hill" and began pounding away. I'd only been going a
few minutes - I'd barely broken out into a sweat -
when the guy in charge, a nicely set-up twenty four
year old just out of college from doing sports centre
management or something, I'd guess, came over and
switched off my machine.
"Hey, boy... Get out of here. Can't you fucking well
read? It says on the door 'slaves not allowed."
I was astonished! This was an expensive hotel, and we
had a big suite. And this puppy was downright rude.
"Hey, what happened to courtesy around here? Do you
always speak to guests like that?"
"I don't care if your owner is a guest, boy. He isn't
allowed to send you down here to the Health Club. Men
don't like exercising with slaves. Now get the fuck
out of here, before I fetch a discipliner."
I grabbed hold of the material of his polo shirt and
almost dragged him off his feet. "Listen, bud, I'm not
a slave. So keep a civil tongue in your head. I'm a
free man, like you, understand? And I'm a client, and
I've a good mind to send for the manager..."
He was confused, and apologetic. "Sir, I'm sorry,
sir... But one of the other members here saw a slave
brand and tattoo on your arm..."
I thrust myself towards him. "You mean this?"
"Yes, sir..."
"Look, boy" (I deliberately use the insulting word
he'd used to me). "My buddy and I we like to play,
see. He's my master, and I'm his slave. Now, fuck
off, and go and do your paperwork, or jerk yourself
off, or do whatever else you do in that office of
yours. Or would you like to play, too - come and join
my master and me, and we'll use that cute young body
of yours to give you the thrill of a lifetime..." It
really turned me on to be able to be so coarse and
crude to a free man again, after having to keep myself
so constantly in check for all this time.
He turned to go, and I called out "Tell that
cocksucker of a member that slaves wear collars,
remember?"
Somehow I'd thrilled at this exchange. It was good
not to be subservient all the time again. And I
realised for the first time that I'd spoken to another
man sexually - I'd as much as admitted that Rafe and I
were together... And I'd even said the guy had a cute
body... How I'd changed - before enslavement I'd never
had admitted things like that, even if I'd had those
thoughts. And I'd never have dreamed of calling a guy
"cute" to his face. Now, I just didn't care - it was,
after all, perfectly natural to like men.
There was trouble in the pool, too. I'd rather have
swum naked, but had gone to all the trouble of buying
some racing Speedos. Now all those who chose to look
could see both my slave brands (as the one on my ass
was below the line of the brief trunks), and, of
course, there were my tattoos on my belly and back. I
was doing racing lengths in a fast crawl, when the
pool guard motioned me to stop at the end of one lap.
"Please, sir.... We've had complaints... A mother said
you were frightening her child...."
"What?"
"Your tattoos, sir. The child is afraid that you'll
attack her, as she's not used to being with slaves..."
"I'm not a slave."
"Yes, sir. But the child thinks you are, and is
scared. And we don't want upset kids, do we, sir?"
"So tell the mother to take the brat out of here! I
wouldn't think you'd want upset patrons either, would
you?"
"Sir, please..."
"Look, I'm swimming, right? I've paid for it. If the
kid is upset, for no reason, then it's the mother's
problem, not mine. Now, get out of my way..."
"Sir, please.. . Help me out on this... Look, I'm
just the pool guard. I'm still at college. The lady's
the wife of the Dean...."
"That's your problem, bud. If she's bringing the kid
up to be scared of guys with tattoos, that's her
problem. You shouldn't tolerate prejudice, you know.
And I need to exercise, to keep this body the way it
is..." I could see the guy looking at me as I stood
there in my tiny Speedos, and for the first time I saw
that flicker if interest that I now know happens all
the time when a guy really fancies you. It had never
occurred to me before that men sent signals like that.
"Sir.... I understand, sir.... But perhaps a massage,
and then you could swim later...?"
I hauled myself out of the water, and saw him
appraising my whole body. He led me off to the
massage room, and lowered the blinds. He was
surprised when I just dropped the Speedos and stood
there stark naked, but I saw his eyes drop immediately
to my dick. I climbed up onto the massage table, and
lay there. He went to cover my middle with a towel,
but I told him to leave it off.
He poured oil into his palm, and started to massage my
pecs - it felt good. And, as you know, when someone
touches my nips, my dick gets hard. He saw it, of
course, and started to blush.
I took hold of his wrist, and moved his hand down my
body - he couldn't resist, even had he wanted to (and
I don't think he did!).
"Now, massage that...", I said, wrapping his fingers
around my shaft. But before you do.. .why am I the
only one in here naked? Don't your clients like to
see you the same way?
He was reluctant to strip - I had to almost pull his
polo off him before he understood he had no choice.
But he was a good masseur - I suppose, as I'd never
had that done to me before. But there is something
undeniably erotic about having a young naked lad
rubbing oil all over you and kneading your muscles:
and no, I didn't fuck him. But it was probably a
better way to pass the time, than thrashing up and
down the pool (but I'm not sure it's as good for your
muscles).
Over dinner that night Rafe told me we were going to
travel - he wanted to see Europe, and do all the
touristy stuff. But I wasn't so sure - I just wanted
to live a normal life for a bit, to have a proper
home, somewhere to call my own. We kind of argued all
night, carrying on long after we should have been
asleep. Not serious arguments, just trying to see
each others' point of view.
We called room service for breakfast, and the waiter
looked really startled to see us both obviously naked
together under the thin sheet - what was happening to
America, I wondered: didn't people in hotels fuck any
more? I was in a playful mood and tipped the jelly
out into Rafe's navel, then used it on my toast from
there, finally ending up by licking the remainder out
slowly and sensuously with my tongue. He in turn kept
taking big mouthfuls of orange juice, then kissing me,
so that the cold juice ran from his mouth into mine,
followed by his hot tongue. We laughed and giggled,
and I don't think either of us had "played" like this
before, almost like kids.
Afterwards, I washed him in the shower, and knelt to
suck his dick as I did so. He wanted me to stop, but
I said "This is what slaves do, master...", and we
both almost fell over, we were laughing so much.
OK, Steve, you win", he said as we were both dressing.
"Master, what?"
"Hey, Steve... Rafe, remember? You win - I can't deny
you anything. Lets' find a place, get a business
going, and we'll go to Europe next year..."
"Master, look... Yesterday... It was fun.... Dinner,
sex, breakfast his morning... We laughed a lot, it was
great.. But it's not working for me."
He was at once serious. He put his arm around my
shoulder as he had once before and led me over to the
couch. We sat close together, his arm still around
me, and he asked quietly "What's wrong, Steve, tell me
about it... Come on, we're buddies now.. .that's what
friends are for... what's wrong?"
"Master, I want to be your friend. I really do. But
it's not the same. The sex last night was
mechanically perfect - better than it's ever been in
that respect.. but... well... I'm used to being your
slave, to you being in charge... And its' not the same
for me... No, it's not as good for me..."
"Steve, I wasn't always in charge... You fucked me
lots of times. And you can be rough..."
"Yes, master. But when I fucked you, it was because I
knew you wanted me to, even though you didn't say so,
and you were my owner. And I was rough because you
liked it. I got my pleasure from doing what you
wanted, master, even when you didn't explicitly ask.
And now..."
"Can't you do those things for me as my friend,
Steve?"
"It's not the same! Please, master, let's go back to
the way we were. Treat me as your slave, master."
"Steve, I can't... You're not a slave now."
"Yes I am, master. I'll always belong to you..."
I got up, leaving him sitting there dressed, and
slowly stripped off my clothes to stand there naked in
front of him. I knelt down in front of him and bowed
my head, and said, calmly "Master, you once taught me
about fucking. You thrashed me with a cane until I
was almost senseless, then you fucked me. It was what
I needed. You taught me that a slave does whatever
his master wants, not what he wants. But I think that
there was another lesson there, too - that a master
can control his slave by punishment, by the tawse, the
whip and the cane. You beat me, master, carrying on
long after I was almost insensitive to the pain as I'd
taken so much. You needed to do that, didn't you,
master, to exert your control totally and completely?
You need to control, as much as I need to obey."
I got to my feet, and went and fetched something else
I'd bough the day before - why, I don't know. I think
I'd justified the purchase on the basis that it was
going to be a "surprise" birthday present for myself,
to make master Rafe laugh. Or perhaps my brain had
worked this out somehow, deep down.
I handed master Rafe the four foot Malacca, and went
and bent over the back of the couch so that my ass was
exposed to him.
"I am your slave, master", I called. "Show me you
care enough about your slave to discipline him, and
show him that you mean to continue to rule his life."
End Of Part Twenty Seven.
YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part twenty eight
Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
SLAVE MASTER
I think he planned to only cane me symbolically - he
wanted to do what was right by me, and thought that a
few light strokes would give me what I needed, the
assurance that he loved me and wanted me.
The strokes landed on my bare butt gently at first,
then they became harder. He stood back to give
himself a bigger swing, and the "swish" of the cane
through the air was soon accompanied by agonising pain
shooting through my muscles, and it was all I could do
to carry on lying there. I gritted my teeth and
remembered that first time when I had declined to be
manacled, as I was a man, not a wimp. Now I needed to
prove to myself that I really was a free man, a man
who could choose to lie there and take this beating
from my master.
We seemed to communicate somehow - I needed be caned
harder, and he understood this. And at the same time
he wanted to strike ever more savage blows, as he was
turned on by the need to discipline and control
slaves: even though I was free, there remained some
desire in him to exert that control he enjoyed.
The blows rained down, and soon it was all I could do
to stop screaming out loud with their sheer savagery.
I then felt something warm trickling down my thighs -
and I knew that the fury of his attack had broken my
skin, and I was again bleeding. I did pass out this
time, but it only stopped him briefly - he slapped my
face to bring me round, half dragged me into the
bathroom and sprayed my body with icy water to fully
revive me. He put his hand on my neck and squeezed it
tight to give me that feeling of being under his
control, and led me back into the bedroom and thrust
me once more down across the back of the couch. He
started again, and the hurt was even greater.
Finally, he was exhausted. He stood there, his chest
heaving, his shirt soaked through with sweat from his
efforts. I just lay there. I couldn't do anything
else. I didn't think I could ever move again.
I was aware that he was stripping - I heard the clunk
of his belt buckle as it hit the floor. Then, above
the wall of pain that was submerging my senses, I felt
it - that unmistakable feel of his dick pushing at my
sphincter.
With no lube, no massage, no preparation, it must have
hurt. Well, it did hurt - it's funny, isn't it - you
don't think you can experience any more pain, and yet
when a different one comes along, it's there all
right. He just fucked me, brutally, hard, with no
tenderness, no love: this was just one strong man
exerting his domination and control over another.
Then he went and sat on the edge of the bed, and
shouted "Get over here, slave... There's work to be
done..."
I managed, somehow, to get off the couch, and I almost
had to crawl across the floor. I knew my blood was
trickling down into the carpet. I was on my hands and
knees in front of him, and he pointed at his
now-flaccid dick. "Clean me up!"
His chest was still heaving from his efforts, and he
was covered in sweat. I knelt there, and put my hands
onto his naked thighs to steady myself, and bent my
head. I almost gagged at the smell of my shit on his
dick - I hadn't been cleaned out, had I? I forced
myself to put my head down, and got that sharp, acrid
taste of shit on my tongue, that almost made me throw
up. But he was my owner, and I needed to obey him - I
needed to obey him to show him that I was sincere in
being his slave. I don't think he knew what he was
asking of me, but it didn't matter - I would obey.
You can make yourself do the most disgusting things if
you need to. And I slathered and sucked at his dick
and his balls as if they were the finest of gourmet
meals. Then I knelt again, taking my hands off his
thighs, and just rested there, my head bent.
He leaded forward and raised my head, lowered his, and
kissed me, his tongue forcing his way into my mouth.
At once he recoiled, looked at me, looked down at his
dick, and said "You should have said, Steve..."
"Master, you commanded, and I obeyed."
He stood up, then raised me gently to my feet.
Tenderly, he began kissing me again, and I knew that
he was showing his love for me in this way, by showing
me that he understood that I'd licked my own excrement
off his dick for his sake, and that he was now
prepared to share the traces of that which remained in
my saliva. It was an act as deeply symbolic as that
thing those Christians do when they share the flesh of
their god and drink his blood.
We hugged and caressed, and moved to the bed, and lay
there, not fucking or anything, just enjoying the
feeling of our two bodies twined together, complete
and whole, each understanding the needs of the other.
Of course when you don't have slaves to clean up all
the bloody sheets and stuff, it costs! Master Rafe
never told me how much they added to his bill, but it
must have been a lot as he didn't seem to be very
pleased. We didn't go out that day as I couldn't - I
could hardly walk, and, anyway, the blood would have
soaked through my Jeans. So we sat and talked, and he
told me all his wonderful plans to see Paris and Rome
and London and Athens, to see all the historic sights,
to ski in the Alps, to swim off a tiny island in the
Aegean.... He'd always wanted to do these things, but
had been working all his life. But then he looked
kind of wistful, and said "But you know, Steve, some
things are better in the mind than in reality. I bet
those places are all crowded and expensive and full of
rude people ripping off the tourists, and the historic
places won't be as good as I think, and the Alps will
be overcrowded, and the Aegean's polluted... No,
perhaps it's best to dream.
Was he telling the truth? Or was he trying to be nice
to me, to agree not to go, to find a place here and
settle, in a way that wouldn't make me feel bad? One
day, I hoped I'd be good enough friends to be able to
ask him that.
It was difficult that next day. Hard-eyed lady
relators wanted to drive us miles to show us ranches
and farms, and my butt was still giving me a whole lot
of pain. So master Rafe hired a pickup, and I lay in
the back on my belly, as he followed them. "You're
saving me a whole lot of trouble, Steve", he laughed,
"Those bitches can't go on and on about these awful
properties as I sit in their cars with them. This way
I get to travel quietly. I'll have to thrash you
again if we don't find something soon..."
We encountered prejudice again and again as the search
continued - everyone would have been happy to see a
slave ministering to his owner, but they could see I
was a "free man"" as I wasn't collared, and master
Rafe insisted I wore a T with long sleeves to cover my
arm brands. But when master Rafe rejected a place
because the bedroom wasn't big enough for the two of
us, or said that he liked the big spa bath in another
as he and I could really have a great time together in
there, you could see their attitude change: sure, it
was subtle, as they wanted to sell us something, but
somehow they looked at both of us as if we were not
proper men.
The search went on and on, and master Rafe never
really told me exactly what he was looking for - sure
we talked, but he never really asked my advice or
anything. I don't think that was because we weren't
buddies, no, it was more that he was older than me
anyway, and not having spent time "out of life" as a
slave, he knew he had a lot more experience and just
didn't feel the need to ask. But on about day six of
the search, there it was.
It was pretty run down - but the main house (although
much smaller than his previous one) had good thick
stone walls and the roof was still watertight. Out
the back there were four solid barns, and as we looked
around them it was clear that they had at one time
been used as slave quarters - there were some cages,
with their stainless steel bars still intact, a
communal shit pit, open showers, all that kind of
stuff. There was around a hundred acres, and it was
fairly lonely and isolated, being at the end of a
long, bumpy dirt track off a very small county road,
nestling in the cleft between two ranges of hills.
Master Rafe was used to bargaining - he struck deals
for all the slaves he sold, but his was a side of his
nature I'd not seen before: I was hugely impressed as
he sat, poker-faced, with the realtor and then the
owner, and negotiated. He desperately wanted the
place, and it was the only one we'd seen that was
remotely suitable, it seemed, and yet he was prepared
to get up and walk out, as if completely indifferent,
until they backed down on some point or other.
It didn't take the contractors long to fix the place
up into a reasonable state - master Rafe only wanted
the main house comfortable but sparse, and it didn't
much matter in the slave quarters: the showers had to
be made to work, all that kind of stuff, but there's
no need to provide luxury, is there? As ever, he was
really "hands on", and we spent most of our time out
there watching the contractor's slaves toiling away -
there's something really sexy, isn't there, about
seeing carpenters and plumbers with those tool belts
slung around their hips with all their tools in: the
handles of the tools seem to complement their dicks
and asses, don't you think? Mind you, as they moved
around and crouched down to work and so on, I did
think that it might have been better to give them at
least a jock or something to wear - being active like
that you do always worry about your dick and balls
catching on something, don't you? I asked the foreman
about this, and he said they had tried letting the
slaves wear standard shorts, but they found custom
almost melted away in favour of contractors using
their slaves naked - apparently it's one of the minor
pleasures in life for boring suburban types, to see
the rugged worker slaves toiling away like that.
As the work got close to completion, master Rafe got
more and more involved in setting up his business. I
was left mostly alone as he carried on innumerable
calls on his cell, and to try to keep myself in shape
I started to help out, unloading the contractor's
trucks, barrowing materials from one side of the place
to the other, going out with an axe and a saw and
putting the fences in order and clearing out some of
the small woods on our land, that kind of stuff. At
first the slaves resented it, especially as master
Rafe insisted I worked in a T and Jeans because I was
a free man. I hated that, actually - sure, I know
they help prevent you from getting scratched and so
on, but it really does constrict your movements when
you're working hard. When I was a long way from the
house, though, I'd slip my clothes off and work away
naked with the gangs clearing the woods or whatever:
they were a really great group of guys, and the
contractor seemed a good owner. They all understood
they needed to work hard, and provided they did, he
didn't punish them. He allowed them to rest during
the noon heat, and fed them well - I almost wished I
was one of them, enjoying the comradeship, and the sex
(they wouldn't let me join them when they lay together
taking their mid-day siesta, gently stroking each
other and playing with their fellows. I don't know
why - I'd have really enjoyed it, and I think I could
have showed them a thing or two about how to suck a
dick dry, too - remember, I'd had lessons from an
expert). Still, you can't have everything, can you?.
Master Rafe and I then started touring the various
slave auction houses and slave merchants. He'd
explained his plan to me by now, and I was to help him
in the search for suitable material. "It's like this,
Steve", he said as he lay in the crook of my arm in
bed one night, his hand idly stroking my balls.
"Modern man needs excitement. Look at the popularity
of those films about olden times, with Greeks and
Romans and their slaves, and gladiators and all that
stuff. Modern slavery just isn't like that - the
slaves are so expensive that you have to work them
hard to get your money back, and the only enjoyment
most owners get is a little more sex than they might
otherwise get from their wives".
"When I was a kid", he continued, "There used to be
boxing matches on the TV. And wrestling. But boxing
went out of fashion when one or two boxers got their
brains scrambled. And wrestling degenerated into a
comedy act, with really unpleasant looking men doing
quite unbelievable things to each other - all faked,
of course. So I've been talking to a group of
influential bakers, who're going to put it all
together again: we're going to have modern 'Gladiator
Games'. We can't let the slaves kill each other, of
course, because of the cost. But we're going to have
them fighting - really fighting, no faking - until one
wins. It will be a sort of mixture of boxing and
wrestling, no holds barred, totally naked, of course.
The guys I've been talking to are TV producers in New
York who're going to mount the shows, and I'm going to
find the slaves, and train them. No, correction:
we're going to find the slaves and train them".
The first day of our search was unsuccessful. We went
through all the display areas, looking at the flesh on
offer, but nothing seemed right. The slaves were all
too well trained, too obedient. They stood there on
their display stands, hands neatly behind their heads,
and waited as we felt their muscles, and erected their
dicks to make sure they looked good like that. Master
Rafe was keen to get a good mix of blacks and whites,
but the whites seemed extraordinarily expensive (he
was working to a budget the producers had given him)
because of their relative rarity, and most of the
blacks were the big, solid thick ones: good for heavy
labouring, but not suitable for the rapid cut and
thrust of gladiator fighting that was in his mind.
We'd made the rounds of all the places in town by day
three, and master Rafe was talking about having to
move to the next city to continue our search.
Frankly, I was bored - trailing around the town
"shopping" was no fun, and I wanted to be outdoors,
working, or exercising: it was like when my mom used
to take me to the malls on her shopping expeditions
when I was a kid, when all I wanted to do was play all
with my friends. But master Rafe wouldn't let me stay
at our place "No, Steve", he said. "You know about
slaves form the inside. And when I see what I want,
I'll need your opinion."
As we left he last dealer's showroom and were on the
street, we heard shouting - really violent cursing and
swearing. There was a gap between the dealer's
showroom and the next building, with a fence to the
street, and the noise was coming from behind there.
Master Rafe told me to kneel down, and he stood on my
back so he could look over. He got down quite
quickly, and we went back into the dealer.
The salesman who'd been showing us the stock a few
moments before came over at once. He was a slave
himself, but was dressed neatly in tailored shorts and
a tight jacket that buttoned right up to his collar.
"Sirs, have you changed your minds.... The delightful
farm boy... Or was it the Mexican with the
exceptionally thick dick....?"
"Those slaves out the back, being loaded into the
transporter. You didn't show me those."
"Oh no, sir. They're the rejects. Only suitable for
the mines. As part of our contract with the state to
take all the output from the courts, we get a wide
variety of men: debtors, persistent speeding
offences, domestic violence, bankruptcy: mostly the
'mild' men who had respectable lives, jobs, that sort
of thing, before enslavement. Then there are the
burglars, rapists, muggers... A lot of riffraff,
mostly. Unstable. Can't hold down proper work.
Most unsuitable as slaves in normal domestic service -
in fact, we don't even offer them for sale. We don't
waste money on getting them toned and trained, on
shaving them, or anything - we just batch them up and
ship them off to the mines where they can't do any
harm to respectable folk."
"There was one of them shouting..."
"Oh, him. A whole load of trouble there. He doesn't
even have the sense to know that slavery is
irrevocable, and that once the decision has been made
to send him to the mines, that's it. He keeps saying
he was innocent... He was convicted of rape or
something, and that it was a set-up by his girl
friend.... But he's been so difficult, and won't take
the training, that we decided the only sensible thing
was to have him incarcerated down in the mines.
Either that or have him calmed, but eunuchs are out of
fashion, currently."
I felt a sick feeling in my gut. That could have been
me! Falsely accused of rape. Condemned to toil away
like a worm threading its way through narrow, dark
tunnels in the bowels of the earth. I actually
shuddered, and master Rafe, always watching body
language, saw it and gave me a long, hard stare.
"I'm potentially interested in that slave", he said.
"Show him to me."
"Oh sir, as I've explained, he's in the shipment for
the mines... He's not for sale."
"Are you, or are you not, a slave dealer? Will your
owners be pleased with you if they hear that you
turned down the opportunity to sell me a slave for a
reasonable price, rather than having him shipped as
part of a low-priced job lot off to the mines? If you
were my slave, you'd be joining the next shipment!
Now, do as I say, and have him brought into the
viewing room. There's no need to clean him up."
Master Rafe can be very forceful when he wants, and I
could see the slave begin to get terrified as he saw
the logic of what had been said.
"Please, gentlemen, room three... I'll be back
immediately... Please help yourself to drinks....
Shall I send a slave to attend on you, a little
relaxation whilst you wait..? All our showroom
assistants here are most skilled..."
"What he means", said Rafe, grinning at me, "Is do you
want them to send a slave to get you horny, so that
you can't think straight when you see a nice bit of
male flesh in front of you! He doesn't know that
you're horny all the time!" The slave actually looked
shocked as master Rafe grabbed my crotch and felt my
erect dick straining away under my Jeans - somehow the
whole atmosphere of slave showrooms and auctions
always set me off like that.
We sat in the viewing room, all neatly modernistic
with its ash furniture and Eames chairs for us. The
showroom slave came back after a couple of minutes,
and apologised to us "Sirs, I'm sorry, but the slave
is difficult - we've had to gag him, as his
obscenities were outrageous! And as all he kept doing
was protesting his innocence in-between his cursing, I
don't expect you want to hear what he has to say
anyway. We've had to cuff him, too, sir - as I said,
he's a most unsuitable slave for domestic use, and the
mines are the best place for him: their regime there
deals with even the most defiant slave. Once they're
down below, they only get food in return for the stuff
they send up to the surface, you know, and that soon
focuses the minds of the slaves working there on
what's important."
We could hear a lot of struggling going on, then the
curtain on the small stage pulled back and I saw the
slave that master Rafe must have viewed when standing
on my back. He was about twenty three or twenty four,
and he reminded me a lot of myself at that age - he
was good looking in a careless sort of way, as I had
been, but not as tall as me - only five eleven, I'd
say. His dark blond hair was much too long, and I was
surprised he hadn't already been given a proper slave
cut. You could see that he led an active life, as
there wasn't a trace of fat on his neat,
well-proportioned body - not overly muscled, but with
those long, lean muscles that normally spell good hard
work and a surprising amount of power. As well as the
ball gag in his mouth, they'd fixed his wrists with
plastic ties to the collar at the back of his neck so
that he was restrained: that had the effect, of
course, of puffing his chest out, and giving greater
prominence to the big dark aureoles surrounding his
well-sized nips.
As we watched, the guard who'd half dragged in him
knelt down and slipped the standard ankle restraint
used in most of the showroom we visited around his
left ankle, then stood up and went to stand discretely
at the side of the stage.
Master Rafe stared at the boy, and I could sense he
was pleased with what we'd seen so far (although the
guy was wearing battered slave shorts). "Turn around
so I can see your back", master Rafe called out, but
the guy just stood there, defiantly.
The guard stepped forward, drew back his hand, and
almost casually slapped the slave hard across the side
of his face - the sound of it echoed around the room
almost like a whip lash. The lad staggered with the
force of the blow, but just stood there. We saw the
guard pulling his hand back for another blow, but
master Rafe shouted "No! Leave him be. I need a
hands-on inspection anyway...."
We got up out of our seats and went up onto the
platform. From the rear the slave was almost more
desirable - he had that wide shouldered, narrow-hipped
look that is so good in a man, and the slave shorts
couldn't even begin to conceal his desirable butt,
which flared up temptingly and ran down to strong,
well-muscled thighs.
Master Rafe ran his hands down the slave's back,
feeling the musculature as he went, and causing the
slave to shift his weight nervously from foot to foot.
He dropped to his knees to get a better perspective
on the thighs, and I saw his fingers digging into the
muscle to gauge the power there - the slave gave
whimpering noises as this was happening, as I know it
can be a little painful if the examiner probes deeply
with strong fingers. It shows master Rafe's experience
in appraising slaves, though, in that he went for the
back first, especially the back of the thighs: so
many men are seduced by the look of the front of a
slave, but it's the back that gives them the sustained
power, isn't it?
Then we went to the front, and master Rafe teased the
slave's nipples to make sure they had good firm
erections. His hands went up and felt the slave's
neck, holding his head rigid in spite of the slave's
protestations as his expert fingers pushed deep into
the musculature, and felt the glands to make sure
there was no sign of incipient infection.
He stood back to take a longer look, and said to me
"See, Steve, that's what you need to look for: power
in the muscles, and a generally nice tone. You don't
have to worry much about the belly: a lot of guys put
a bit of weight on there if they're not working hard,
but a week's harsh exercise and it soon falls away.
He's handsome enough, don't you think? A lot of men
will be drooling cum at the thought of this one... But
as he'll have to appear totally naked, there's one
more thing we need to inspect..."
The slave dared to kick at master Rafe as he reached
out to undo the button holding the shorts closed.
Master Rafe just stood there, looked straight into the
slave's eyes and said, in that icy calm tone he adopts
when he's inwardly seething with rage, "Do that
again, and I'll buy you whatever your dick looks like,
and then I'll have you gelded, and then sent to the
mines. The big slaves down there like fucking ass
which they say isn't the ass of a 'real' man, you
know."
He reached for the button again, and the shorts
dropped to the floor as the slave stood there - he
wasn't exactly docile, as I could see all his muscles
in tension, but at least he didn't kick out again. He
was uncut, and had a neat dick that was carried high
on top of those balls which bulge out and don't hang
very low - rather like in Michaelangelo's "David".
They hadn't shaved him or anything, so the whole
package was surrounded by a mass of dark blond curls,
and he looked really rather classical.
Master Rafe proceeded to do the usual examination of
the testicles, then skinned the slave back to get a
good look at his dick head, and I really did think the
slave was going to lose it and lash out again -
surely he'd had at least some elementary handling
before?
"Tell me what you think, Steve", master Rafe said, and
I too now cupped the balls in my palm. I have to say
they're not my favourite configuration - I really do
prefer them to hang low in a big sac - but these were
good sized. Of course it's always difficult examining
a guy's balls when they're covered in hair, isn't it?
You can't really feel the texture properly. But when
I 'skinned him back, I did like his dick head: the
moist pinkness of a revealed dick head is one of the
minor pleasures of life, I suppose - well, I guess
it's about the only argument I can ever find against
'skinning.
I was still holding his dick so I felt the shock run
through the slave's body when master Rafe said "Jerk
him off, will you? We need to make sure he shoots
well." He made a lot of strangled noises, and tried
to pull away from me. I really did feel sorry for him
- if this was the first time another guy had ever
masturbated him, it must be pretty traumatic, with the
guard, the showroom slave, master Rafe and me all
there watching! So, as gently as I could, I cupped
his balls in my other hand and pulled him back towards
me, then started to stroke him very slowly and gently,
so as not to cause too much alarm.
It was totally unexpected - he went to a strong,
upward-thrusting erection almost immediately, and I'd
really only teased his 'skin backwards and forwards
across his head a couple of times when a huge load of
cum pumped out of him - not just large in volume, but
with an amazing force that sent it squirting across
the gap between us to soak the front of my shirt.
I got to my feet, and the poor lad cowered back,
evidently thinking I was going to hit him. But master
Rafe and I just stood there, helpless with laughter.
"Hey, Steve", master Rafe said between his guffaws,
"Why don't you give me hand-jobs like that? When you
jerk me off, it always takes me ages to cum. Have you
found a new technique, or something?"
We scraped some of his cum of my shirt and agreed that
it was thick and rich. The showroom slave seemed
terribly upset, and was speaking into a telephone,
calling for slaves to bring cloths, towels, a fresh
shirt... Master Rafe cut him short, saying "Don't
other about all that - Steve here is used to being
covered in cum. Now, how much do the mines pay for
bulk stock like this?
It was derisory. Only about ten dollars per pound of
slave meat! I suppose they did it that way as that
was some measure of the slave's muscularity. So this
one was valued at no more than one thousand six
hundred dollars, and master Rafe took a credit card
out of his wallet, thrust them at the astonished
showroom slave, said "I'll take him at that price,
then, and give you a bigger profit. Send me the paper
work later and just push the card through your machine
now". He turned to the guard and told him to uncuff
the slave from the floor, then took hold of the guy's
dick and led him away.
I could tell the poor guy was completely embarrassed
at being led down the main street by master Rafe
pulling at his dick, and most passers by did stop to
stare - naked slaves were no longer the rarity they
once had been, but it was unusual to see them gagged
and cuffed, as this one was. When we got back to the
parking place, master Rafe opened the rear compartment
of our SUV, behind the rear seats, and told the slave
to get in. He cuffed the guy to the restraint hooks
that are now standard on most SUVs - it's part of the
image, I suppose: suburban moms and dads like to
think that they might have to control unruly slaves -
then pulled the door closed, locked it, and we set off
again.
"Right, Steve. . Now we know.. We're going back to all
the dealers and we're going to look at the stock
destined for the mines. We need slaves with spirit,
and that's where we're likely to find them. It
doesn't matter to us what they were sentenced for -
indeed, a few real rapists might be an advantage, as
one of the competitions in the Gladiator Games is gong
to be called 'Fight for a fuck' and the winner has
only won when he's got the loser skewered on his dick.
And these guys are dirt cheap - ten bucks a pound,
eh... And just think what I had to pay Billy-Joe for
you! Do you realise, they're actually cheaper than
prime USDA corn-fed beef?"
We found five more that day, and when we set off for
our place the back of the SUV was crammed with slave
flesh. Master Rafe had made them all strip, and said
that it would do them good to get used to the feel of
other men against them - most of these slaves really
were virgins, and had never even touched another guy's
dick before.
It can go cold in the foothills at night, and when we
unloaded them they stood there shivering slightly and
were glad when we led them off into the slave dorm.
They really didn't have a clue! At first they didn't
understand the bars of the communal shitter. They
wolfed down the slave chow, though - I guess there's
no point in feeding slaves who are being sent to the
mines - although, as master Rafe pointed out, it would
have been in the dealer's interest to make them weight
as much as possible! And we crowded them all into one
small cell to sleep - master Rafe said that it would
do them good to keep feeling other men, and, in any
case, it was kinder, as it would keep them warm. We'd
let the wrists of the first slave go free, and taken
out his ball gag, and I noticed that he seemed to have
given up - he was no longer shouting and protesting.
Perhaps he realised he was no longer special, he was
one naked slave in a bunch of others. Or perhaps he
was beginning to understand what he'd been saved from.
Who knows!
Master Rafe and I ate a good dinner that night, and
after we'd fucked, we lay in bed talking about the
day. "It's off to a good start, Steve", he told me.
"I'm going to make even more money from this
enterprise than I did from training the young lads.
By the time anyone else realises there's a potentially
huge market for this, all anyone will ever want is a
slave from my training yard. I'll have set the tone,
made the running , set the fashion... And I think
you'll see I have a few surprises, to get and keep
exclusivity."
"How are you going to do that, master? I mean, a
naked slave is a naked slave. How will anyone know
he's been trained here?"
"Wait and see, Steve, wait and see... " was all he'd
say, but I could tell he was pleased with himself by
the way he sighed so contentedly as his head lay on my
chest.
He woke me the next morning with his customary slap on
my butt - I usually manage to end up sleeping on my
belly, with my head buried in my arms. It was just
before dawn, and even I felt it was cool as I went out
just in shorts. We got the slaves out from their
cage, and they stood there as the sun came up, rubbing
their hands over their bodies to try to get warm.
"Right, you men", master Rafe began. "You've all been
saved from the mines. But if any of you misbehave, or
disobey, or are uppity in any way, I won't hesitate to
send you there: you cost me little enough, and it
will be no great loss if I have to send you there
free! I bought you all with the cash I carry in my
wallet, remember."
"Now, you're going to be trained here. You're all in
pretty good shape, but not as good as master Steve
here, who's in charge of your physical education." He
looked at me, and I felt a thrill at hearing myself
called "master Steve", and a glow of pride that master
Rafe had recognised my fitness. The slaves were all
eyeing my body, and he went on "Yes, master Steve was
a slave at one time. So he knows all the tricks. All
the ways that a slave can try to avoid working, can
try to cheat his owner from what is rightfully his -
complete, willing, utter, total obedience. If master
Steve finds any of you slacking, any of you trying to
avoid working as hard as you possibly can, he'll first
of all use the discipliner on you; then if you
persist, he'll beat you to a pulp; and when you've
recovered from that, if you still persist, you're off
to the mines. A sort of 'three strikes and you're
out' rule. So the message is work hard, and obey."
"Now, if any of you are thinking of running away,
here's another little house rule: if any slave
escapes, or even tries to escape, all of you, yes, all
of you, will be gelded, and then sent to the mines.
Neither master Steve nor I have time to keep locking
you up, or chaining and unchaining you. You'll live
as free men in the slave dorm here - regulate
yourselves, decide who you want to fuck, all that sort
of stuff. We won't interfere. But if you're not
ready for training the next morning, or if you don't
give us all you've got, be prepared to be punished.
That's all I've got to say. If this were a normal
meeting at a school, college, or office, I'd say 'are
there any questions?', But you're slaves, you don't
question, remember! And I've told you all you need to
know to survive and prosper here."
"Take them on a run, Steve", he said to me. "Tire them
out. They all look fit, but don't bring them back
here until they're exhausted, as we've got the doctor
coming in today to brand them, and in spite of what
I've said, I think some of them will be rebellious as
the iron burns into their flesh."
"I thought branding was going out of fashion?"
"It has. But these slaves are special... You'll see!"
It was ironic, really - the slaves were all naked and
would have liked to run in shorts. I was in shorts
and would have preferred to run naked! I was really
fit, of course, and my feet were hardened to the
ground, so it wasn't difficult to get them to the
point of exhaustion, and then I made them run uphill
back to the dorms. I was proud of them, though, as
they sat there crowded around a small table, sweaty
bodies touching each other, as I tipped a big bag of
slave chow into the trough in the middle.
You can build kind of "team spirit", can't you, and I
think I saw the beginnings of that in these young men.
I don't suppose they'd have sat here joking with each
other if they'd known what was in store for them later
that morning.
End Of Part Twenty Eight